


Inclined to Domesticity

by Berevette



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berevette/pseuds/Berevette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Lewis and Hathaway are good at marriage but bad at dating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inclined to Domesticity

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through the end of season five, particularly for episodes 2.3 Life Born of Fire, 5.3 The Mind Has Mountains, and 5.4 The Gift of Promise.

Lewis apologized to Laura with a grimace and fished his phone out of his pocket. “Lewis.”

 

“Hello, sir. Finishing up the paperwork for Ms. Vickery, wondered if you’d like to grab a pint.”

 

Lewis looked over at Laura. “Having one with Dr. Hobson now, actually, but you’re free to join us.”

 

“Oh, no sir, I don’t want to intrude,” Hathaway started, as Laura shook her head.

 

“I have plans, actually, must be getting on. Tell Hathaway he should take over minding you.”

 

“I don’t need minding,” Lewis protested. Then, to Hathaway, “Laura’s leaving, actually, so I’d like the company. And a ride home, with my arm and all.”

 

Lewis heard Hathaway exhale in that near-chuckle of his. “Very good, sir.”

 

Lewis hung up and looked over at Laura. “He’s on his way.”

 

“Good,” she said. “He’s a good man. A good partner for you.”

 

“That he is,” Lewis admitted. “I don’t know what I’d do without him these days.”

 

“I imagine the same goes for him. Don’t you think?”

 

Lewis stared into his pint glass. “You know what he said to me the other day? ‘If you go, I go.’ If I take early retirement he’ll leave the force.” He paused. “Didn’t know how to take that. Just didn’t say anything.”

 

Laura reached over the table to lay her hand on his wrist. “Robbie. I think it’s rather sweet.”

 

“Maybe, but I don’t want to have him pin his career plans on me, of all people. He’s young, bright, should be doing what he wants, not attaching himself to some old copper in the twilight of his career.” Lewis frowned. “Am I doing him a disservice? Should I kick him out of the nest? Tough love, or what have you?”

 

Laura sat back in her chair. “I think James is exactly where he wants to be. He’s very clever: you should give him the benefit of the doubt.” She drained the last of her wine. “Now I must be off. Girls night, you know.”

 

“Have fun, then. And…” he paused. “And I meant it. What I said earlier, about this Franco fellow. It’s not an opportunity we get very often, love. Take it when you can.”

 

“Sentimental old Robbie, getting awfully philosophical tonight.” She softened. “You too, you know. No matter where you find it. We all deserve a chance to be happy.”

 

He frowned. “Laura, there’s not…”

 

Laura stood up. “Just in case. Keep it in mind.” She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “Say hello to the dishy Sergeant Hathaway for me.”

 

“Dishy,” Lewis snorted. “I’ll tell you called him that. It’ll make post-mortems more interesting, anyway.”

 

 

 

 

It was not ten minutes after Laura left that Hathaway slipped into her vacated seat, sliding a pint of best in front of Lewis. “Paperwork’s done, sir.”

 

“Hathaway, you are far and away my favorite Sergeant right now.”

 

“Glad to be of service, sir,” Hathaway replied as he sipped his own tonic water with lemon.

 

They stared at over the water for a few moments, taking in the slowly dipping sun.

 

“Laura and I have settled it,” Lewis said finally. “We’re friends, and quite happy with that, thank you very much.”

 

“Still none of my business,” Hathaway said.

 

“Well it somehow became your business,” Lewis said exasperatedly.

 

“That,” Hathaway pointed out, “was not my fault.”

 

Lewis took a long draught of his pint. “Fair enough,” he said finally. “But you should know the end of it, since you came along for the ride.”

 

“Fair enough,” said Hathaway.

 

They contemplated the water again. A few swans drifted into view, looking serene in their silent paddling.

 

“You know, I said to Laura earlier tonight that love is a rare enough opportunity. She ought to take it when presents itself.” Lewis looked down into his pint glass, then looked sidelong at Hathaway. “I hope you’ll do the same. Love. Work. All that.”

 

Hathaway looked back at him, brow wrinkling. “This seems a bit introspective for tonic and a lemon, sir.”

 

Lewis frowned. “I’m hardly three sheets to the wind over here,” he said.

 

“Mmm. And did they give you anything for your arm earlier today?” Hathaway asked, nodding at the sling.

 

“Oh,” Lewis said. “Well.”

 

Hathaway almost smiled. “Glad I came to pick you up, sir.”

 

Lewis shook his head. “What would I do without the dishy Sergeant Hathaway?”

 

Hathaway blinked at him. “Perhaps you should not finish that pint, sir.”

 

“Oh come off it, it was Laura that called you that,” Lewis grumbled. “Several times, now. Bound to stick in this old head at some point.”

 

Hathaway looked at his drink. “I’m very much regretting being the designated driver right now.”

 

Lewis chuckled. “Told her it would spice up post-mortems. You’ll have to work it into the next one, somehow.”

 

“I’ll do my best, sir.” There was a long pause. “…Dishy?”

 

“Don’t let it go to your head, Sergeant.”

 

“I’m just saying, she’s a very attractive woman, and…”

 

“Sergeant!”

 

By the time they finished their drinks, Lewis was smothering yawns. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I suppose it’s whatever they gave me for this arm. Knocking me out.”

 

“What _did_ they give you for your arm?” Hathaway asked.

 

Robbie reached into his pocket for a small prescription bottle, handing it to Hathaway.

 

Hathaway looked at the label. “And having attained the rank of Detective Inspector, you still somehow missed this No Alcohol warning? The one in red?”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Lewis grumbled. “Just need a good night’s sleep.”

 

Hathaway eyed him. “Sooner rather than later, I think. I parked around front, are you fine to walk?”

 

Lewis shot him a dirty look. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Sergeant.”

 

By the time they got to Lewis’s neighborhood, Hathaway was shooting the Inspector concerned looks at every stop sign. “Sir, are you feeling all right? Do we need to go to hospital instead?”

 

Lewis cracked an eye. “Don’t you dare, Hathaway. I said ‘Home, James’ and I meant it.”

 

Hathaway didn’t answer, just drove the last few blocks in silence. He parked directly in front of the path to Lewis’s apartment, hopping out of the car and stepping around to Lewis’s side of the car.  He opened the car door. “Rise and shine, sir. We’re home.”

 

Lewis fumbled with the safety belt, only to have gentle hands reach past his own to unlatch it. “There we go, sir. We’re standing up now.”

 

“I’m fine, Hathaway,” Lewis muttered.

 

“Of course, sir. You’re just making an overworried Sergeant very happy.”

 

“Worse than my own mum,” Lewis complained.

 

“As you say, sir,” Hathaway agreed.

 

They paused at the front door and Hathaway reached a hand into Lewis’s right trouser pocket, emerging with house keys.  Lewis squinted at the door as Hathaway unlocked it, then the door to Lewis’s apartment. A light hand at Lewis’s back guided him through the entry way and straight into the bedroom. Once there, Lewis sat gratefully at the edge of the bed, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off the sling.

 

“All right, then?” Hathaway asked.

 

Lewis hummed and brought one hand up to tug at his tie. Hathaway frowned, then reached forward to help him.

 

“I don’t…” Lewis protested sleepily.

 

“I know, sir, but you don’t want to reinjure your arm.” Quickly, efficiently, Hathaway helped Lewis remove his tie and dress shirt, leaving the undershirt.

 

Lewis stood up and swayed. Hathaway stepped closer to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. Lewis unbuckled his belt, leaving it in the loops, the unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, kicking them off onto the floor. When Hathaway pulled back the comforter and pressed Lewis into bed, Lewis didn’t resist, just relaxed into the sheets and pushed his head into the pillows.

 

He slept.

 

 

 

 

Lewis woke up with light streaming into his bedrooms, the window blinds wide open. He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow for a minute before rolling again, this time out of bed. He frowned at the clothes strewn on the floor under his feet, then headed to the loo. After relieving himself he brushed his teeth and drank two glasses of water in a row. Rubbing at his face, he returned to the bedroom to retrieve the sling from the floor. He pulled it on awkwardly.

 

In the kitchen he switched on the electric kettle and was fetching the coffee when he was distracted.

 

There was a pair of long, pale legs extending beyond the length of the couch.

 

Lewis stepped into the living room to find Hathaway stretched out in boxers and undershirt, his dimensions far exceeding the furniture’s limitations. Despite the awkwardness of his contortions, Hathaway was asleep.

 

After staring for a moment Lewis returned to the kitchen, taking two cups and the French press down from the cupboard next to the refrigerator. He spooned several heaping tablespoons of ground coffee into the press, then poured boiling water on top. He put the top back on the press, then gazed silently out the window as it brewed. After a few minutes he pushed down on the plunger, filtering out the grounds.

 

“Are you using the French press I gave you?” Hathaway asked from the living room, voice low with sleep.

 

“I am,” Lewis admitted. “It makes better coffee.”

 

“Told you.”

 

“Indeed you did,” Lewis said, pouring one cup and taking it out to the living room. “Speaking of, mind telling me what you’re doing on my couch?” He set the cup on the coffee table, then returned to the kitchen to pour a second cup for himself.

 

 “Thought I’d stay in case you needed a chauffeur to hospital.” There was a pause. “I was worried about you.”

 

Lewis came back to the living room to find Hathaway curled up on one end of the sofa. He sat on the end that Hathaway had vacated. “I don’t know whether to be touched that you were worried or concerned that I was in bad enough shape that you stayed.”

 

Hathaway yawned and reached for the coffee. “I was probably being overly cautious, but you were alarmingly drunk for two pints.” He took a sip of coffee.

 

“Drunk enough that I needed help out of my clothes?”

 

Hathaway held up a mocking hand. “Your virtue is intact, I swear.”

 

Lewis rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t exactly planning to report you to Innocent.”

 

“I can’t imagine the look on her face.”

 

“I can.”

 

“Don’t share it. Really. Far too early.” Hathaway shifted. “Feeling better today, then?”

 

“Beyond a bit of dry mouth, much.” Lewis replied.

 

“No more drinking, then, with that medication. Or I’ll tell Dr. Hobson.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

 

“Try me.”

 

Lewis shook his head. “Don’t think I’ll be taking any more anyway. I don’t need it. A little sore today, but nothing paracetamol won’t cure.”

 

“Drinking is also contraindicated with paracetamol, you know.”

 

“As eight in the morning is a bit too early for a pint, I think I’m safe,” Lewis said dryly.

 

“As you say, sir.”

 

Lewis finished his coffee. “Another? And breakfast, since you’re here?”

 

“I wouldn’t say no,” said Hathaway.

 

“Great,” Lewis nodded. “You can cook. Can’t do a thing with this sling on.”

 

“Oh, thank you, sir. Very kind of you to offer.”

 

Lewis clapped a hand on his knee amicably. “How do you feel about omelets?”

 

“I can do omelets,” Hathaway allowed. “Do you have anything to put in them?”

 

“Cheese?”

 

“Any vegetables?”

 

“…Define vegetable.”

 

“Mmm. Perhaps we need to go to hospital after all. Have you checked for scurvy.”

 

Lewis stood up. “I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere,” he said.

 

Hathaway stretched. “Under the sink. Found it last night, sorry.”

 

“No, no, glad you made yourself at home.”

 

Lewis refilled their coffee cups while Hathaway detoured to the loo. Taking a sip of his coffee, Lewis opened the fridge and, with a frown, the crisper.

 

As Hathaway returned to the kitchen, Lewis announced, “We have…one onion, one red pepper.” He paused. “The pepper is a bit old.”

 

“Minimalism is very fashionable right now,” Hathaway said agreeably.

 

“Don’t tell Lyn. She’s still after me to eat healthier, get more exercise.”

 

“I think this counts as healthy. And we can always take you for a walk round the block after.”

 

“Oh, thank you very much. Just for that you’re doing the chopping, too.”

 

“Probably for the best, sir.”

 

It did not take long for Hathaway to dice the two vegetables, which he set sizzling in a pan.

 

“This is nice,” Lewis commented, leaning against the counter with coffee in hand.

 

“Having someone to cook your meals for you?” Hathaway asked as he cracked eggs into a bowl.

 

“No. Well, yes. But I meant the company. It gets very quiet in here. Nice to have someone about to make a bit of noise.”

 

“Mmm. Used to it myself. Lived alone since after seminary.”

 

“You don’t miss it? The reminder that it’s not just you if, you know, you need a bit of company, or help, or what have you.”

 

Hathaway poked at the vegetables. “I have that. Sir,” he said.

 

Lewis regarded him for a moment. “I suppose I do, too,” he said finally.

 

Hathaway smiled faintly and poured the eggs into the pan.

 

 

 

 

 

The next week proved fairly routine: no new bodies, just paperwork and regular hours.  On Thursday they gained a short reprieve as back up in another Inspector’s case, loitering officially outside yet another university building. With standing orders to hold for questioning anyone walking a golden retriever, they leaned side-by-side against the wall and watched the small park attached to the college.

 

Hathaway cleared his throat. “You’re staring, sir.”

 

“Hmm?” Lewis said. “Oh, you mean at…yes. Sorry.” He turned slightly away from the two girls holding hands on the park bench, glancing over at Hathaway, who had a carefully neutral look on his face. “Oh for...not that! I was thinking about our conversation a while back, is all.”

 

Hathaway frowned. “Our conversation?”

 

“About…you know.” Lewis made a vague hand gesture. “Being gay or straight. You saying that you didn’t think it was that simple. I was just thinking that in my day it _was_ that simple. Amazing the difference a generation makes: those girls over there might be gay, or straight and just trying it on, or somewhere in between.”

 

Hathaway tilted his head. “And?”

 

“And I don’t know if that’s entirely a good thing. Wait, wait, hear me out,” Lewis protested as Hathaway opened his mouth. “It just must be awfully confusing, is all. There’s so much that’s overwhelming at that time of your life. You have so many decisions to make about who you want to be. I don’t know that having one more choice makes the rest any easier.”

 

“I don’t think it’s a choice, really,” Hathaway said, voice low.

 

“No,” Lewis replied, “I don’t think how you’re wired is a choice, but you can choose to test your wiring. From what I can tell, that’s what a lot of them are doing. Hopping from one bed to another, looking for something that’s not about sexual identity at all.”

 

Hathaway blinked at him. “Mind if I smoke?” Lewis waved his permission and Hathaway slipped a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, turning slightly against the wind to light it.

 

They stood in silence for a few moments.

 

“You’ve given it a lot of thought,” Hathaway said finally.

 

Lewis shrugged. “It was new to me. The idea that it wasn’t simple.”

 

“Ah,” Hathaway said. He took another drag off his cigarette.

 

 “Still, I suppose this is better than how it used to be. Too much choice is a better than no choice at all.”

 

“Quite,” Hathaway said, tapping ash onto the ground. “Oh, look, is that a golden retriever?”

 

Lewis made an exasperated noise. “Don’t tell me you don’t know the difference between a golden retriever and a cocker spaniel, Sergeant!”

 

 

 

 

 

On Friday Lewis arrived at work without the sling. A question from Hathaway about doctor’s orders was ignored. Instead, Lewis said, “Do you fancy dinner tonight? As a thank you for last week. I could cook.”

 

Hathaway raised an eyebrow. “You can cook?”

 

“No one’s died from my cooking yet.”

 

“That’s reassuring.”

 

“It’s less dangerous than your smoking habit, anyway. Well?”

 

“Would love to, sir. I don’t take enough culinary risks these days.”

 

“Just for that you can finish the year-to-date review that Innocent asked for.”

 

They pushed through the rest of the paperwork and knocked off a bit late, depositing a large stack of completed paperwork on Innocent’s desk and fleeing while she was still frowning at it.

 

“Meet you back at mine?” Lewis said as they left the building.

 

“Do you need me to pick up anything on the way? Wine? Vegetables?” Hathaway asked as he jiggled his car keys.

 

“Very funny, Hathaway. There are vegetables to go with dinner, I promise. Wine, too.”

 

“I’m impressed, sir. I’ll follow you, then.”

 

The drive to Lewis’s flat was short. When they arrived, Hathaway parked directly behind Lewis’s car.

 

“I should have said, thank you for inviting me to dinner, sir,” Hathaway said as they walked side-by-side up the path to the apartment building.

 

“The least I could do,” Lewis replied, unlocking the front door. “I’m just surprised you didn’t already have plans. No band practice? No date?”

 

“None of the above,” Hathaway confirmed.

 

“My luck then.” Lewis opened the door to his apartment and gestured for Hathaway to precede him. A savory smell wafted through the entryway. “We’re having chili, by the way. And a salad, for the vegetable fanciers.”

 

“I’m impressed, sir. An actual meal, no defrosting required.”

 

“I am this close to making you chop up the salad,” Lewis threatened as Hathaway kicked his shoes off next to the door.

 

“How about I make drinks instead?” Hathaway said. “Lager?”

 

“Please,” Lewis said, following him in the kitchen to examine at the slow cooker on the counter. “Lyn sent this for my birthday last year. Seems pretty easy. Came with a book of recipes.”

 

“Is this the first time you’re using it?” Hathaway asked, handing Lewis a bottle.

 

“Mmhmm,” Lewis confirmed. “Should be done in…a half hour, I think, but will keep till we’re ready. Or so I’m told.” He reached up to tug loose the knot of his tie. “I’m going to hang up my jacket, make yourself at home.”

 

Hathaway shrugged out of his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs. After a moment’s hesitation he pulled off his tie, too, laying it on top of the jacket. He was rolling up his shirt sleeves when Lewis came back to the kitchen in a similar state of undress.

 

Lewis took a pull of his beer. “Salad?”

 

“Salad,” Hathaway agreed. He turned around to open the fridge and started rifling through. “Lettuce, cucumber, red pepper—fresh this time, even.” He handed each item to Lewis as he named it. “Red onion?”

 

“A small one,” Lewis allowed.

 

“Salad dressing?”

 

“Oh, for…” Lewis grimaced. “I knew I forgot something.”

 

“Do you have olive oil? Vinegar?” Hathaway asked, emerging from the fridge with a small pot of mustard.

 

“In that cabinet there,” Lewis said, indicating one.

 

Hathaway opened it and examined the contents. “Perfect. You chop the vegetables, I’ll make the dressing.”

 

“Really? With just that and some mustard?” Lewis said, pulling out a cutting board. “A man of many talents, you are.”

 

“I hope that will be on my performance review this year,” Hathaway said. “’Good problem solver. Makes an excellent vinaigrette.’”

 

Lewis started rinsing off the vegetables, settling them on cutting board afterward. “I’m sure Innocent would appreciate the value of a good cook on staff. And a priest, if the cooking goes awry.”

 

“You survived last weekend, didn’t you?”

 

“Careful, you remind me of that and I’ll have you cooking my meals full time.”

 

Hathaway shrugged. “As easy to cook for two as it is for one.”

 

A comfortable silence settled in as Lewis chopped vegetables and Hathaway steadily whisked olive oil into the vinegar and mustard with a fork. When Hathaway stopped stirring, Lewis was only halfway through chopping.

 

“Music?” Hathaway suggested.

 

“Whatever you like,” Lewis said, slicing the cucumber.

 

Hathaway wandered into the living room and started browsing the cds propped next to the stereo. “Benny Goodman?” he asked.

 

“Sounds good,” Lewis replied.

 

“No pun intended?” Hathaway said, popping the case open and feeding the cd into the stereo.  He hit play and returned to the kitchen. “Wine?” he asked, picking up one of the bottles on the counter.

 

“Sure,” Lewis said, starting in on the onion. “The girl at the store said that red would go well with chili. Opener’s in the drawer there.”

 

Hathaway was pulling the cork out when Lewis cursed.

 

“Sir?” Hathaway said, turning around to see Lewis twist on the water and thrust his left hand under the stream.

 

“Cut myself,”

 

Hathaway frowned and stepped over to the sink, reaching forward to pull Lewis’s hand out from under the water. “Badly?” he asked.

 

Lewis shook his head. “It’ll bleed for an hour but it’ll be fine.” He pulled his hand out of Hathaway’s grasp and returned it to the flow of water.

 

Hathaway ducked around him to claim Lewis’s spot at the cutting board. “Bit of an elaborate ploy to get me to make the salad.”

 

“What can I say? I was running low on excuses.”

 

“Thought so.” Hathaway examined the slices of vegetable. “I think perhaps we should give up on the onion, if that’s all right with you. I don’t fancy blood in my salad. Too tangy.”

 

Lewis sighed. “Sorry about that. But there’s a tomato in the bowl over there. That should finish us off.”

 

Hathaway retrieved the tomato and nudged Lewis’s hand out of the way long enough to wash it. “Still bleeding?”

 

Lewis stuck his finger back into the sink. “Still bleeding,” he confirmed.

 

Hathaway selected another knife and began to slice the tomato directly on the counter.  He added the slices to the top of the salad, then carried it and the bowl with the salad dressing to the dining table. He similarly migrated the appropriate silverware and their beers, then returned to the sink to frown at Lewis’s hand.

 

“You’re sure you don’t need stitches?” he asked.

 

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise. Here, hand me a paper towel.”

 

Hathaway tore off a sheet and gave it to Lewis, who turned off the water and wound the towel several times around his left index finger, tucking the end in. “There, good as new.”

 

Hathaway looked doubtful.

 

“Well, good enough to let us eat dinner without dramatics, anyway,” Lewis amended. “Now tell me what you reallythink about the new forensics assistant.  I saw that look you gave her yesterday, you have _opinions_.”

 

Work conversation carried them through dinner. By the end, both men were sitting back in their chairs, bowls scraped clean on the table in front of them. Hathaway tipped the last of the wine into Lewis’s glass.

 

“That was lovely, sir. Thank you for having me over,” Hathaway said.

 

“You make for good company, Hathaway. Don’t know why you put up with me, but I’m glad for it. “ Lewis said, fiddling with his wine glass. “Oh, there’s ice cream for dessert, too.”

 

“Oof. Maybe in a few minutes,” Hathaway said. “Too full.”

 

“Fancy whatever terrible is on television, then?” Lewis asked.

 

“Let me guess: the price is doing the dishes?” Hathaway said, finishing his wine.

 

“I can manage it. Go get settled; I’ll be in there in a minute. Oh, and open the other bottle of wine, if you like.” Lewis stood up.

 

“Let me help you put the leftovers away, at least. Are you sure you don’t want help? You cooked, after all.”

 

“But you were unfairly roped into salad making. It’s fine, it’ll only take a minute. I’m just putting them in the dishwasher.”

 

Hathaway set their chili bowls next to the sink, then retrieved the second bottle of wine and their glasses, retreating to the couch. “Anything in particular you want to watch?” he called.

 

“Not the news,” replied Lewis.

 

Hathaway flipped on the television with the remote and began scanning channels. When Lewis joined him a few minutes later, Hathaway had stopped on one.

 

“Are those people wearing crinoline? No, absolutely not, give that here.” Lewis claimed the remote and jumped through a few stations before settling on one showing a commercial. “There’s usually something good on this one, give it a few.” He set the remote on the coffee table.

 

“How’s your finger?” Hathaway asked.

 

Lewis unwound the towel and made a face. “Still bleeding a bit.”

 

“You have to keep pressure on it,” Hathaway said.

 

“I can’t keep pressure on it and drink my wine!” Lewis protested.

 

“Here, give me your hand.” Without waiting for it to be offered, Hathaway pulled Lewis’s hand over to his knee and wrapped his right hand in a fist around Lewis’s injured finger. Lewis gave him a funny look.  Hathaway shrugged. “We each have a hand free, now.” When Lewis just stared at him, he added with false sincerity,  “And I promise to let go if anyone from work stops by.”

 

Lewis huffed out a laugh and grabbed his drink, settling back into the couch with his hand on Hathaway’s knee. “Only you, Hathaway.”

 

An hour of mindless television and a few more glasses of wine later, Hathaway was yawning.

 

“I’m knackered too,” Lewis said. “Doesn’t make any sense: no long hours this week, I have no excuse.”

 

“Must be the paperwork. It’s slowly destroying our will to live. Or at least our will to be conscious.”

 

Lewis snorted. “Something like that.” He looked over at Hathaway. “Are you okay to drive?”

 

“Mmm,” Hathaway said. “Probably.”

 

Lewis shook his head. “Not worth the risk, then. Sleep here.”

 

“I’m fine, really,” Hathaway protested.

 

“I believe it’s my sworn duty to remind you ‘better safe than sorry.’ Come on, I’ll even let you have half the bed. You’re too tall for this torture device.” Lewis reclaimed his hand from Hathaway and thumped it on the couch.

 

Hathaway let his head loll against the back of the couch. “Going directly from hand holding to sleeping together? Sir, I think we missed a few steps.”

 

Lewis rolled his eyes and stood up. “Come on, you. I saved your toothbrush from last weekend.”

 

Hathaway groaned and dragged himself off the couch. “How’s your hand?”

 

Lewis unwrapped the paper towel from around his finger. “Good. Stopped bleeding.”

 

Hathaway smiled faintly. “I told you: pressure.”

 

“Yes, yes, you get full credit for that one. Off to bed, now. You can have the bathroom first.”

 

When Lewis emerged from the bathroom, Hathaway was already stretched out beneath the sheets, bedside lamp turned off. As Lewis got into bed, Hathaway murmured, “Thank you, sir.”

 

“You can thank me with another of your breakfasts tomorrow morning. Goodnight, Hathaway.”

 

“Goodnight, sir.”

 

 

 

 

 

Lewis leaned against the counter sipping his coffee as Hathaway flipped the bacon in the frying pan.

 

“This is nice,” Lewis said.

 

Hathaway smiled. “You said that last week.”

 

“Well, it is nice!” Lewis protested.

 

“You like the company,” Hathaway teased.

 

“I like _your_ company. Or I did, until you started making fun of me.”

 

“Me? Make fun of my superior officer? Never, sir.” Hathaway poked at the bacon. “How crispy do you like your bacon?”

 

“Not too,” Lewis said, looking over Hathaway’s shoulder. “About like that.”

 

“Right,” acknowledged Hathaway, spearing each bacon slice and transferring it to the paper towel-covered plate next to the stove. “Hand me the eggs?”

 

Lewis set the carton at Hathaway’s side.  Humming a thanks, Hathaway picked up an egg and cracked it expertly into the still sizzling pan.

 

“One handed? I didn’t notice that before. I’m impressed,” Lewis said as Hathaway cracked open a second egg.

 

Hathaway shrugged. “It’s just practice. Although long fingers probably help.” He wiggled his fingers in the air before grabbing another egg.

 

“Forget practice, I’ll just have you come over every morning to make my breakfast.”

 

“Is that an order?” Hathaway asked, cracking a fourth egg.

 

“I could make it one, depending on how these eggs turn out,” Lewis said. “More coffee?”

 

“Mm, yes, please,” Hathaway replied.  “If you make a standing order, it will have to go on my job description, you know. Innocent will have kittens.”

 

“What are you talking about? It’s standard duties for a Sergeant. I haven’t cooked breakfast since I worked for Morse.”

 

Hathaway tilted the pan back and forth so the grease ran over the edges of the eggs. “Are you saying I’ve been neglecting my duties?”

 

“That’s all right,” Lewis said kindly. “Some Sergeants take more training up than others.”

 

Hathaway snorted. “They always leave the most important things out of the training manual.”

 

 

 

 

 

“I hate when they have guns,” Lewis said. “How are you feeling? The arsenic wearing off yet?”

 

“The doctor said I’d be fine, just need to rest. Drink a lot of fluids. The usual.” Hathaway was slumped in his chair, paperwork pushed out of the way enough to allow for a coffee mug full of water.

 

“You still look pale. I’m tempted to show you those racy pictures of the victim again just to see some color in your cheeks.”

 

Hathaway smiled faintly. “I can’t say I’ve entered quite so much pornography into evidence before.”

 

“Perils of the job.” Lewis stood up. “Let’s get you home. Come on, I’ll drive you.”

 

“But the paperwork?”

 

“Next week is soon enough. I cleared it with Innocent. I said you were first priority and she agreed.” Lewis circled around and held out a hand. “Keys? We’ll take yours and leave mine here.”

 

“I can drive myself,” Hathaway protested.

 

“It will make me feel better to get you home and fed and tucked into bed. Now: keys?”

 

Hathaway stood and handed over his key ring. “This is really unnecessary, sir.”

 

Lewis frowned as he ushered Hathaway out of the office. “It’s what partners do, Hathaway.”

 

“Oh? And how was Morse’s bedside manner?”

 

Lewis snorted. “As if Val would have let him anywhere near me when I was sick. What do you want for dinner? We can pick it up on the way.”

 

By the time they finished their takeaway, perched on Hathaway’s couch and eating off the coffee table, Hathaway looked a bit ragged around the edges.

 

“You’re done in,” Lewis observed. “I’m getting you another glass of water and then I’m sending you to bed.”

 

Hathaway smiled slightly. “You’re a bit of a mother hen, sir.”

 

“Years of sitting up when the kids were sick,” Lewis said, fetching the filtered water from the fridge and filling Hathaway’s glass “Here. Drink that whole thing.” Lewis carried their plates over to the sink while Hathaway obediently quaffed the entire glass. “Good. Now, to bed with you.”

 

“Will you read me a story if I go willingly?”

 

“Funny. Come on, then.” Lewis started herding Hathaway toward the bedroom.

 

“I admire your singlemindedness, sir. But really, you’ve fulfilled your duty. I’ll be fine from here.” Hathaway protested, shuffling slowly out of the living room.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that. Get yourself into bed, I’m going to get you another glass of water for your nightstand.”

 

Lewis disappeared back into the kitchen. When he returned, glass in hand, Hathaway was emerging from the bathroom in just his boxers. “Tooth brushing,” he offered, then slipped into bed underneath the covers.

 

Lewis sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, setting the glass of water on the bedside table. “I’m worried about you,” he admitted.

 

“I’ll be fine, sir. Really.”

 

“I don’t like people poisoning my Sergeant. It’s not fair play.” Lewis reached out and laid his palm again Hathaway’s forehead. “No fever. That’s better, at least.” He brushed Hathaway’s hair back. “I think I might sleep on your couch. Just in case.”

 

Hathaway reached out and pressed a hand to Lewis’s knee. “If you insist on staying, you’re welcome to the other half of the bed. But really, you shouldn’t feel obligated. I already feel much better. Really.”

 

“Hmm. Well, if sharing a bed won’t keep you up, I’ll sleep here. Make sure you keep breathing.”

 

Hathaway smiled faintly. “Slept fine last weekend. It’s early, though.  You’re welcome to the tv, or any of the books.”

 

Lewis turned around to look at the bookcase behind him. “Anything your average copper might call enjoyable?”

 

“Mysteries, bottom shelf.” Hathaway yawned and stretched, turning onto his side. He was already dozing when Lewis got into the other side of the bed a few minutes later. “Find anything good?” Hathaway asked, opening his eyes.

 

“You tell me,” Lewis replied, showing Hathaway the cover of the book he had in hand.

 

“Mm, good choice,” Hathaway said.

 

“Will the light bother you? I can go into the living room.”

 

Hathaway shook his head. “Extra toothbrush in the right hand drawer when you need it.” He closed his eyes again as Lewis settled back into the pillows and opened the book. In short order, Hathaway was asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

“James?” Lewis shook Hathaway’s shoulder lightly.

 

“Hmm?” Hathaway answered, opening his eyes.

 

Lewis released a breath. “Just making sure you’re not in a coma. You’ve been asleep nearly fourteen hours.”

 

“What?” Hathaway said.

 

“Nevermind, go back to sleep. Wait, drink a glass of water first. Here. Sit up.”

 

Hathaway pulled himself into a sitting position and took the glass being pushed at him. He took a sip. “This feels like a hangover.”

 

Lewis, looking worried, was sitting on the bed beside him. “Dehydration. You need more water. Finish that and I’ll get you another.”

 

Hathaway took another sip. They sat in silence, Lewis looking at Hathaway, Hathaway looking at the water glass.

 

“Do you feel up to some food? That might help. Or more sleep?”

 

Hathaway hummed. “No more sleep. Food once I’m awake.” He sipped his water.

 

“Do you feel worse this morning?” Lewis questioned.

 

Hathaway shook his head. “I think I just need more water. I’ll be fine. Did you have breakfast already?”

 

“Yes,” admitted Lewis. “I made eggs. They weren’t nearly as good as yours.”

 

Hathaway smiled into his glass. “Had to make your own eggs, how awful. I hope this won’t affect my performance review this year.”

 

“I think poisoning is adequate justification,” Lewis said. “Besides, you did the salad the other week.”

 

“How is your finger?” Hathaway asked. He picked up Lewis’s left hand and examined it. “It might scar.”

 

“I’ll survive,” Lewis said.

 

Hathaway rubbed the finger with his thumb. Lewis squeezed his hand reassuringly, then let go and cleared his throat. “This mirror of yours is a bit alarming.” He gestured with his now free hand to the large, full-length mirror propped up on the wall across from the bed. “I woke up to check on you last night and nearly had a heart attack. Thought there was someone else here.”

 

“I really just keep it around so I can watch myself having sex,” Hathaway said, deadpan. Lewis colored and Hathaway laughed. “Sorry, kidding. It makes the room look bigger, is all.”

 

“How you can make a joke like that without turning a hair, but blush like a school boy when confronted with some amateur pornography is beyond me,” Lewis said, still pink.

 

“Context, I should think,” Hathaway said. “Pornography at work seems a bit…inappropriate.”

 

“But sexual innuendo while in bed with your boss is fine?” Lewis asked incredulously.

 

“One: it wasn’t innuendo. Two: if there’s anything inappropriate, it’s being in bed with my boss.”

 

“Well if you didn’t go and get yourself poisoned we wouldn’t be here, hmm?” Lewis reached to take the now empty glass from Hathaway. “I’ll get you more water.”

 

As Lewis left the room Hathaway stretched, then swung legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself into a standing position with a soft grunt. He padded to the bathroom, used the toilet, and brushed his teeth. By the time he emerged Lewis had not returned, so Hathaway stepped into the living room.

 

“Figured I should give you a bit of privacy,” Lewis said from the kitchen. “Here.” He handed Hathaway a refilled water glass.

 

“Thank you,” Hathaway said. “For all of this, actually. It’s very kind of you to have stayed and taken care of me, sir.”

 

Lewis rolled his eyes. “I told you, it’s what partners do. I’m borrowing that mystery in compensation, though. I want to know how it ends. Now if you sit on the couch and tell me what sounds good for breakfast, I’ll try my best to make something edible.”

 

 

 

 

 

Lewis joined the long line in the coffee shop with a grimace. “This is what I get for letting you talk me into the fancy coffee,” he complained.

 

“Oh, it will move quickly,” Hathaway said, standing beside him and peering around the line at the food case. “Besides, their pastries are excellent. I think I’ll get a croissant.”

 

Lewis sighed with resignation and shoved his hands in his pockets, settling in for a wait.

 

“So you heard about the party, right?” said one of the girls in line in front of them, not bothering to keep her voice down.

 

“Oh my god, yes,” said the other, equally loudly. “Insane, totally insane.”

 

“It’s like, I’ve known them all for years, right? I did not predict that at all. At all.”

 

“Seriously.  I mean, really? I can’t believe they reacted that badly. I thought they knew! I thought everyone knew!”

 

Lewis rolled his eyes at Hathaway, who smiled.

 

“I know, right? I mean, how was anyone surprised?” continued the girl.

 

“Seriously! I heard his parents were surprised, but okay, fine whatever.”

 

“But he was _so gay_ ,” moaned the first. “I mean, really, really gay. Like, sparkles and rainbows gay.”

 

“Exactly. You live with a guy for two years and you’re surprised when he comes out of the closet? And decide to, like, tell him it’s wrong and gross? I don’t think so. Just no.”

 

Hathaway tensed, jerking his gaze away.

 

“It’s just so uncool. Where do they get off? It’s not like they’re religious, even: they’re just jerks.”

 

“Yeah, I was appalled. We all were.”

 

“I’m going to wait outside, sir.” Hathaway turned and left the shop.

 

“Hathaway!” Lewis called after him. “Oh, damn,” he muttered. He looked at the door, then turned reluctantly back to the line.

 

It took a few minutes for him to get to the cash register, then another few as they brewed the individual cups of coffee. He thanked the barista and, balancing the pastry bag on one of the coffees, stepped out of the store and looked both ways. Hathaway was sitting on a bench a little ways down the street, slumped and smoking a cigarette. Lewis walked over and sat next to him, silently handing over the coffee with the pastry bag on top.

 

Lewis sighed and leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “We never really talked about it at the time, you being in hospital and all. It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

 

Hathaway didn’t look at him. “Actually, sir, I think it was pretty clearly my fault.”

 

“Hathaway. James. You can’t keep torturing yourself over this.”

 

“Oh, I really can. Catholic, you know. We’re good at it.”

 

“For god’s sake, you’re not to blame for that boy’s suicide. Yes,” he interrupted Hathaway’s attempt at a response, “years before he killed himself, you told him he would go to hell for being gay. I get that. “ Lewis touched Hathaway’s wrist. “You told him what you thought was the truth, what you thought would help him.”

 

“I was blindly repeating doctrine,” Hathaway said, quiet and furious.

 

“But you believed it was the truth at the time.” Lewis squeezed Hathaway’s wrist and let go.  He sighed. “James. I think you’re a good person. I think you try to be as honest with people as you can. I think you were just as young and confused as the young man coming to you for advice. I think you had the best of intentions. And that’s all any of us can do: be honest and try our best to do whatever we think is right.”

 

“And that’s what killed Will.”

 

“No,” Lewis objected, “Will killed himself. He went to a lot of people for advice—not just you—and he took the sum of all that advice and his experiences over the course of his life and he made a decision.”

 

Hathaway didn’t say anything. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Lewis nudged Hathaway’s knee with his own. “Come over for dinner tonight.”

 

“Sir, I don’t think…”

 

“I’ll make it an order if I have to. You’re coming over for dinner. No arguments.”

 

Hathaway looked at the ground and nodded. They sat on the bench for a while longer, sipping their coffee, before Hathaway broke the silence.

 

“Do you want a croissant?” He held out the paper pastry bag. “I’m not really hungry.”

 

Lewis sighed and took the bag.

 

 

 

 

 

They worked late and Lewis hadn’t prepared anything, so they picked up takeaway Indian and a bottle of wine on their way back to his flat. Hathaway tried to settle their plates in front of the tv, but Lewis redirected them to the dining table with a stern look.

 

“How’s Lyn doing?” Hathaway asked when they sat down.

 

Lewis lit up. “Oh, she’s lovely. The morning sickness is past now, but she says her feet are swelling.  Val was the same way, I told her, but I don’t know that it makes it any better.”

 

“She’s six months along now?” Hathaway asked.

 

They continued to make small talk, falling into the easy grooves of family and work. By the time they were picking at the last few bites on their plates, it was late and dark outside.

 

“I should be going,” said Hathaway, pushing back from the table.

 

“Stay the night,” Lewis suggested.

 

Hathaway stilled. “I’ve barely had two glasses of wine, I’m fine to drive.”

 

“I know,” Lewis said. “Stay anyway.”

 

Hathaway stared at Lewis, who didn’t react. “Are you sure?” Hathaway asked finally.

 

“I’m sure,” said Lewis. “Help me clear the dishes first, though.”

 

Lewis stood up and collected their dishes and silverware, carrying them to the kitchen. Hathaway followed with the wine glasses and partially empty bottle of wine. As Lewis rinsed the dishes in the sink, Hathaway returned to the table to pile the takeaway containers in their bag, which he tied and discarded in the kitchen waste bin. He watched Lewis put the last few pieces of silverware in the dishwasher and closed the machine, and then they were standing silently and looking at each other.

 

“Go on, you can have the bathroom first,” Lewis said.

 

Hathaway nodded and headed to the bedroom.

 

Soon after, Lewis and Hathaway were lying side-by-side in the dark. Hathaway was staring at the ceiling. Lewis was lying on his side, looking at Hathaway. Hathaway sighed.

 

“I left seminary because I stopped believing in god.”

 

Lewis didn’t say anything.

 

“That’s the short version, of course. The long version has a lot more sleepless nights and praying and confessing. The confessing, that was the most horrible. I found it disturbing that so many of them understood, had gone through it themselves, and were still there.

 

“Intrinsically disordered, is the phrase used by the church. It’an odd phrase, but I suppose lets them skate between condemnation of sinners and criticizing god’s works. Technically there’s no conflict: priests can give the sacrament even if they are sinful. Even the intrinsically disordered are welcome these days, as long as they don’t act on that disorder.” Hathaway shrugged. “Celibacy is often an issue with young priests, but I never had a problem.”

 

Hathaway turned to look at Lewis. “You can kick me out of your bed now, if you like.”

 

Lewis reached out to squeeze Hathaway’s shoulder. “You’re fine here.”

 

Hathaway looked back at the ceiling and let out a long breath. “I lost my faith in the church first, but my faith in god followed suit fairly quickly. It was less about figuring anything out than realizing just how lost I was.” He paused. “Haven’t made much progress since on that front.” He looked back over at Lewis. “That’s it, really. Not very dramatic at all.”

 

Lewis looked solemnly at Hathaway. “I’m glad you told me. And I don’t think you’re as lost as you think. Truly.”

 

Hathaway smiled wryly. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome. Now go to sleep.”

 

“Goodnight, sir.”

 

“Goodnight, Hathaway.”

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning saw Hathaway mixing pancake batter at the kitchen counter. When Lewis emerged from the bedroom, he smiled. “Hoped you would find that,” he said.

 

“I’m impressed by your cupboards these days, sir. It’s like a real person lives here,” replied Hathaway.

 

“Well, I have incentive now, don’t I? There are some blueberries in the fridge if you want to add those.”

 

“I saw that,” said Hathaway. “Thought I’d make sure you didn’t have something else in mind for them first.”

 

Lewis shook his head. “They’re all yours.”

 

Hathaway nodded. “I made coffee,” he said.

 

“Thanks. Sorry, my job, I know. Just couldn’t resist a lie in this morning.”

 

“It’s Saturday, you’re allowed.”

 

Lewis poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Hathaway stir in half a pint of blueberries.

 

“Need to run a few errands today. Groceries, hardware store, a few other things. Wouldn’t mind company if you’re free,” Hathaway said.

 

“Why not?” Lewis replied. “I need a few things myself. More efficient with two.”

 

Hathaway scooped a small bit of batter into a measuring cup and poured it carefully into the hot pan. “I’ll need to stop at home, first. Shower, change clothes.”

 

“I’m in no rush,” Lewis said.

 

 

 

 

 

Their day was unhurried. They stopped for lunch after the hardware store, then took an unexpected detour to a plant nursery, where Hathaway argued Lewis into trying his luck with a fern. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll adopt it,” Hathaway promised. They saved groceries until the end of their day, sharing a cart as they strolled the aisles.

 

“I can’t believe you’ve never had paella,” Hathaway said as they stood in front of the seafood. “Come over tonight, I’ll make it.”

 

Lewis shrugged. “If you’re cooking, I’m all for it.”

 

 “We should pick up wine, too. Something Spanish.”

 

They dropped Lewis’s groceries and fern off at his flat, then drove to Hathaway’s. Hathaway set Lewis to dicing vegetables with a stern “If you can refrain from injuring yourself again” and started rooting around in one of the under-counter cupboards.

 

“Aha,” he announced, “I knew I had an actual paella pan.” He pulled out a wide, thick pan with metal handles on either side. “You can do it with a regular pan but it’s not as good.”

 

“And why do you own a paella pan, exactly?” Lewis asked, moving on to an onion.

 

“It’s a kitchen essential, sir.”

 

“Of course it is. Can’t imagine why Val and I didn’t have one on the registry.”

 

“You are always welcome to borrow mine,” Hathaway said.

 

“Only if you’re also providing the paella,” Lewis said. “As you described it, there are about seventeen more steps to this than I’m willing to do myself.”

 

“I can train you up. None of it’s hard, it just takes a while.”

 

“Hmm. We’ll see,” Lewis said. “Mostly I like being in charge of opening the wine. Speaking of?”

 

Hathaway pulled two wine glasses out of the cupboard. “I’ll pour, you keep chopping.”

 

“I’m a bit confused as to how this is _you_ making _me_ paella.”

 

Hathaway smiled as he fished a corkscrew out of a drawer. “Chopping is your only responsibility. After that your only job is to keep our wine glasses full.”

 

“Fair enough,” said Lewis.

 

The paella did take quite a while to prepare. Hathaway spent most of the time in front of the stove, adding ingredients and stirring. As promised, Lewis was allowed to sit back and drink his wine.

 

“There,” said Hathaway finally. “Almost done. It just needs to sit for ten minutes.”

 

“It smells good,” Lewis said.

 

“Well, we’ll see. Haven’t made it in ages.”

 

Lewis poured the last drop of wine into Hathaway’s glass. “I’ll open the second, then.”

 

Hathaway nodded his approval. “I’ll set the table.”

 

When the paella was done resting, Hathaway placed two generous servings onto plates, then carried them out to the table, where Lewis was already sitting. He sat down as Lewis picked up his fork.

 

“It looks great,” Lewis said.

 

“Bon appétit,” Hathaway said, smiling.

 

Lewis took a first bite. “Hathaway,” he said.

 

“Sir?”

 

“This is delicious.”

 

Hathaway laughed. “Glad you like it.”

 

A short while later, Lewis was leaning back in his chair, scraped-clean plate in front of him. “That was really good.”

 

“Thank you,” Hathaway said. “Not too bad for being a bit rusty. There’s more, if you’re still hungry.”

 

Lewis patted his stomach. “Couldn’t eat another bite,” he said.

 

“I’m just going to put the leftovers in the fridge, then, since there’s seafood. No, don’t get up,” Hathaway said when Lewis started to stand. “I’ll be right back.”

 

“I’ll help you clear, get it out of the way,” Lewis said. He piled Hathaway’s plate on his own and collected the silverware on top.

 

Clean up managed, they retired to the sofa with the remainder of the bottle of wine.

 

“Hathaway, if I have haven’t told you before, you’re an excellent cook,” Lewis said, shoulder pressed against Hathaway’s as they relaxed on the couch.

 

“I don’t really do anything fancy. And you’re not so bad yourself, that was a good chili.”

 

Lewis smiled. “Lyn would approve, anyway, of this new lifestyle.” He topped up Hathaway’s wine glass, then poured the last bit in his own.

 

“Mmhmm. It’s nice.”

 

“See?” Lewis said. “I told you so.”

 

“You did,” Hathaway acknowledged.

 

Lewis sipped his wine. “I shouldn’t monopolize you like this,” he said. “You should be out, going on dates, spending time with friends your own age.”

 

Hathaway shrugged. “You’re not monopolizing me. I like this.”

 

“Hathaway. We’ve spent Friday night and all of Saturday together. It’s fine for me, but you’re young. You have better things to do than to entertain your old Inspector.”

 

“Sir, I…” Hathaway set his wine glass on the coffee table and sat back with a huff of air. “I really don’t.”

 

“Don’t sulk,” Lewis protested. “I just don’t want you to wake up in ten years and wonder why you missed out being young and irresponsible. You’re so serious.”

 

“Being irresponsible hasn’t worked out for me in the past. I’ve rather given it up,” Hathaway said dryly.

 

“Well maybe you should try again,” Lewis said. “It doesn’t get easier when you get older.”

 

“Hardly easy now,” he said.

 

“Why not?” Lewis said firmly. “Life is short, take my word for it. Carpe diem, or whatever that phrase is.” He turned his head to meet Hathaway’s eyes.

 

Hathaway leaned over and pressed a kiss against Lewis’s lips, then pulled back and picked up his wine glass again.

 

Lewis blinked at him. “What was that?” he asked.

 

“Being irresponsible,” Hathaway said, taking a large draught of wine.

 

Lewis was silent for a moment. “James. You shouldn’t.”

 

“Too late,” Hathaway said, looking away.

 

“I didn’t realize…” Lewis trailed off. “I’m flattered. But we’re not right. You’re young, the age to settle down and start a family. I’ve already done that.”

 

Hathaway picked at his trouser knee with one hand. “Chalk it up to the wine, sir. We don’t have to talk about it.”

 

“No,” Lewis said, reaching out to stop Hathaway’s fidgeting. “We do. We work together. I’m not letting this, anything getting in the way of that.”

 

Hathaway looked at his hand under Lewis’s for a moment before pulling away, crossing his arm over his chest. “I like what we’ve had the last several weeks.”

 

“Me too,” said Lewis cautiously. “I like spending time with you.”

 

“Spending time with me? We’re practically married. We went grocery shopping together today. I bought you a fern. We _sleep together_.”

 

“I…probably shouldn’t have done that,” Lewis said.

 

“What, invited me into your bed?”

 

“It crossed a line,” Lewis admitted. “I knew it and I let it happen anyway. I’m sorry.”

 

“I don’t want an apology,” Hathaway snapped. “I want to do it again tonight.”

 

There was a silence. “James,” Lewis started.

 

“No,” Hathaway interrupted. He took a deep breath. “Just…just go home. On Monday we’ll move on, it will be like it always was.  It won’t interfere with work, I promise.” He turned and looking pleadingly at Lewis. “Please, sir.”

 

Lewis looked away and nodded. He put his half-empty glass on the coffee table and stood up. “I’ll let myself out,” he said.

 

Hathaway didn’t respond.

 

 

 

 

 

Their greetings on Monday were tense. Hathaway was already at his desk when Lewis arrived, barely looking up from his stack of paperwork to say hello. Lewis didn’t push, just sat down at his own desk and started up his computer.

 

Around mid-morning, Hathaway stood up. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee from the bakery, sir. Can I you bring something back?”

 

Lewis looked up from the computer. “I’ll join you, actually. Sick of being inside already.”

 

Hathaway nodded his acquiescence and waiting for Lewis to pull on his jacket. They walked the two blocks and stood in line in silence.

 

“Fancy a bit of a chat before we go back to the office?” Lewis said as they left, indicating the nearby bench with a nod.

 

Hathaway grimaced. “This _is_ where we have all our most awkward conversations,” he pointed out, but followed Lewis over to the bench and sat down.

 

Lewis sighed. “I don’t know how to fix this. I like having you as my partner. I like having you as my friend. I don’t want to lose those things.”

 

“I don’t either,” said Hathaway.

 

“Right, well, there’s a starting point, anyway.” Lewis took a sip of his coffee. “I want you to be happy, too.”

 

Hathaway stared at the ground. “I know your definition of happiness is to settle down with someone my own age, have kids, all that. You did it and it made you happy, and I appreciate that you want it for me, too. But that’s not what I want.” He paused. “Mind if I smoke?”

 

“Go ahead,” Lewis said automatically. He fiddled with his coffee cup “I can see you not wanting the marriage, the kids. But why me instead?”

 

Hathaway lit his cigarette and took a long draw. He breathed out, releasing a long puff of smoke. “Put the work thing aside. Put the age thing aside, too. Would you consider it? Me.”

 

Lewis looked away. “That’s hardly the point. And you can put aside the work and age issues all you want, but they’re still there.”

 

“It’s the point for me. I wasn’t wrong, then? There’s something.”

 

Lewis sighed. “There’s something. Of course there’s something. I’m not asking anyone else to sleep in my bed, am I?”

 

“So. We need to discuss the work issue and the age issue. Anything else?”

 

Lewis colored slightly. “The sexuality thing is an issue. For me.”

 

Hathaway nodded. “Okay, that too. Anything else?”

 

“Isn’t that enough?” Lewis protested. “It’s not a good idea. It just isn’t.”

 

“For me, you mean. It’s not a good idea for me.” Hathaway tilted his head. “If you insist on being so concerned about my well-being, you might take my wishes into account.”

 

Lewis looked at him. “I don’t want you to regret our relationship. Our friendship. I couldn’t live with myself if it kept you from something that would make you happy.”

 

Hathaway took another drag off his cigarette. “Come to dinner tonight. I’ll make something simple. We’ll talk, about all of this.”

 

Lewis was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Fine, dinner. But make it mine. Do you know how to make risotto? I bought the ingredients but don’t have any idea what I’m doing.”

 

“I think we can figure it out together, sir.”

 

 

 

 

The rest of the day went quickly. Leaving on time for once, they ended up at Lewis’s flat far earlier than usual.

 

“It’s a bit early to cook. If we’re getting straight to the talking bit, I need a drink. Lager?”

 

Hathaway nodded. “Please.” He took off his jacket and tie, piling them on the counter.

 

Lewis popped the caps off two bottles from the fridge and handed one to Hathaway, then shrugged off his own jacket. “Couch?” he suggested.

 

Hathaway nodded and headed to the living room.

 

They sat on the sofa, more space between them than usual. Lewis kicked off his shoes and cleared his throat. “So.”

 

“So,” repeated Hathaway. “Let’s just talk hypothetically. You don’t have to agree to anything, let’s just talk it through. There would be a few issues.” He looked over at Lewis. “Which do you want to start with?”

 

Lewis shook his head. “Age? I’m more than twenty years older than you. I’m about to be a grandfather, for god’s sake. What could you possibly want with me?”

 

Hathaway shrugged. “We suit. Someone told me recently than I’m middle-aged already. Maybe he’s right. I like this life. Quiet dinners in. Running errands together.”

 

“It can’t last,” Lewis warned. “I can run around with you now, but you’re going to be able to keep it up longer than I can. I already have that special mattress for my back. It’s only going to get worse.”

 

Hathaway took a sip of his beer. “It would hardly be the first relationship with an age discrepancy. They figured it out along the way. I think we could, too.”

 

“Even so, what about work?” Lewis said. “I’m your _boss_.  Regulations aside, it puts me in a position to abuse my power.”

 

“You already make me do all the paperwork,” Hathaway said dryly. “But you wouldn’t do that. I know you, that’s not an issue. Regulations, though, are.” Hathaway paused. “If we were caught, we could both lose our jobs. And I would have an easier time finding something else than you would.”

 

Lewis shrugged. “I’m almost out the door anyway.  Innocent likes me enough that I could probably walk away with my full pension. It’s you I’m worried about: I don’t know if you’d be able to stay, though. You’d be unpromotable, certainly.”

 

“I’ve already said: if you go, I go. I don’t want to do this job without you. I have other options. I’d figure something out.” Hathaway smiled a bit. “None of this seems all that insurmountable when we say it out loud, does it?”

 

“Then there’s…the other thing,” Lewis said uncomfortably.

 

“Ah. Yes. The other thing.” Hathaway turned toward Lewis, propping one folded leg up between them. “I take it you’ve never been romantically involved with a man?”

 

“You’re blunt, aren’t you?” Lewis took a deep breath. “No. I haven’t. You?”

 

Hathaway shrugged one shoulder. “Nothing serious. You know I wasn’t comfortable with that for some time. It was easier to date women. Men were,” he gestured vaguely, “short term things, if anything. And there weren’t many of them. There’s a lot I don’t know. Haven’t done.”

 

Lewis nodded. “I don’t know if I…can. You know. I haven’t tested that wiring. Don’t know how extensive it is.”

 

Hathaway nodded, serious. He studied Lewis for a moment. “Close your eyes. I’ll be good, I promise,” he said in response to Lewis’s dubious look. “Just close them.”

 

Sighing, Lewis did. Hathaway reached out to curl a hand against his cheek, brushing his hand down and rubbing his knuckles gently against Lewis’s jawline. Then he leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to Lewis’s. When Lewis didn’t object, he did it again, this time lingering longer. He shifted closer, kissing Lewis’s cheekbone, his jaw, then returning to Lewis’s mouth. When Lewis’s lips parted, he let the tip of his tongue lick at the bottom one gently, then pulled back and looked at Lewis.

 

After a few moments Lewis opened his eyes. “James,” he said.

 

Hathaway smiled and leaned forward to kiss him again. Lewis met him halfway, bringing a hand up to Hathaway’s neck to pull him closer. They kissed breathlessly for several minutes before Hathaway pulled back a bit. “How’s the wiring?” he asked in an undertone.

 

“Seems to be functioning,” Lewis said, voice husky.

 

“Do you want to go to bed?” Hathaway asked. “We don’t have to do anything more. Just…more comfortable.”

 

Lewis pressed his lips together and looked at Hathaway. He shook his head, then stood up. “Come on, then.” He held a hand out to Hathaway, who took it and stood up, then leaned in for another kiss.

 

Stumbling, they made their way to the bedroom and tumbled onto the bed. Lewis pressed Hathaway back into the pillows, running a hand down the side of his body to grip Hathaway’s hip. Hathaway wrapped his arms around Lewis’s neck and kissed him hard.

 

“God,” Lewis said, breaking away. He reached up to tug at the buttons of Hathaway’s shirt. “Get this off. I want to touch you.”

 

“Oh,” Hathaway said, eyes wide. He started to tug the buttons free, Lewis helping. In short order, he was sitting up to shrug out of the shirt, which he threw on the floor. Lewis was already tugging off Hathaway’s undershirt. Ducking out from under the fabric, Hathaway reached for Lewis, pulling his tie loose, then starting on the shirt buttons. Giving up halfway through, he reached down to untuck Lewis’s collared shirt and undershirt, pulling them both off over Lewis’s head.

 

“Yes,” Hathaway said, pulling Lewis back onto him and kissing him messily. Lewis shifted to lie between Hathaway’s legs and they both turned away from the kiss to gasp.

 

“Christ,” Lewis said.

 

Hathaway laughed breathlessly.

 

“You,” Lewis said accusingly, then kissed Hathaway again.

 

Smiling into the kiss, Hathaway braced a foot against the bed and pushed, rolling them over. He sat up, straddling Lewis.

 

“You’re a sight like that,” Lewis breathed, resting his hands on Hathaway’s thighs.

 

Hathaway reached for Lewis’s belt buckle. “Okay?” he asked. Lewis nodded and Hathaway opened Lewis’s belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. He tugged, shuffling further down the bed to pull Lewis’s trousers off. He slipped Lewis’s socks off, too, throwing them onto the floor. Glancing at Lewis, he stood up long enough to shed his own trousers and socks, then crawled back into Lewis’s arms.

 

“Lovely,” Lewis murmured against his neck and Hathaway shivered.

 

“I want you,” Hathaway whispered, kissing him.

 

Lewis hummed and tipped Hathaway onto his side, then shifted a hand from Hathaway’s waist to the front of his pants. A moment of hesitation, then Lewis slid his hand inside, wrapping his fingers around Hathaway’s cock.

 

Hathaway moaned and rolled partly onto his back, pushing his pants down his thighs. Lewis began moving his hand steadily. Hathaway tilted his head back, and Lewis bent down to lay a trail of kisses along the side of his neck.

 

“Sir,” Hathaway gasped and Lewis moved his hand faster. “Oh, god. Please, yes.” With a cry Hathaway came, shuddering in Lewis’s arms. Lewis stroked him through it, letting go only when Hathaway pushed gently at his wrist.

 

Lewis kissed Hathaway’s cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “Gorgeous.”

 

Hathaway laughed softly. “Sorry, a bit quick off the mark.”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Lewis said.

 

Hathaway craned his neck to look at the bedside table, then reached for a tissue to wipe himself off. Throwing the used tissue in the general direction of the table, he turned to Lewis and pushed him onto his back. Lewis pulled Hathaway with him, wrapping arms around him and kissing him. Hathaway squirmed, kicking off his pants, then threw a leg over Lewis’s waist.

 

After a few lingering kisses, Hathaway sat up, pulling out of Lewis’s embrace. Lewis dropped his hands to Hathaway’s thighs, squeezing gently. Hathaway smiled lopsidedly and reached down to pull down Lewis’s pants, sliding them down until Lewis could kick them off.

 

Lewis was flushed, but met Hathaway’s eyes as he reached down and gripped Lewis’s erection. Hathaway started to jerk Lewis off and Lewis tightened his grip on Hathaway’s thighs.

 

“You like this,” Hathaway said. “God. I like doing this. You feel fabulous. I could do this all night. Want to do everything with you, touch you everywhere, kiss you everywhere, spend a whole weekend in bed. Call in sick on Monday so I can do it all over again. Jerk you off. Suck you off.”

 

“Jesus, James.” Lewis’s eyes were wide.

 

“Want everything,” Hathaway continued. “Want you to fuck me. Never done that, but I want it with you. I want you to push me into the bed and fuck me so hard I feel you the rest of the day, so I can look across the office at you and feel the ache of every place you touched me. Want signs of it all over my body, underneath my suit so anyone who looks for it knows.

 

“Want to sneak off in the middle of a workday to have it off in a broom closet somewhere. Want to do something stupid and senseless for you to show how much I want you. Want to wake up next to you, have you pressed against my back while I make breakfast. Want everything, everything. Want to ride you like this, fucking myself on you. Want to do it my bed so I can watch us in the mirror.”

 

Lewis came with a groan. Hathaway watched him, waiting until his eyes opened again, then leaned forward to kiss him.

 

“Mm. Tissue,” Lewis said.

 

Hathaway rolled over to grab another tissue and wiped off Lewis’s stomach and chest. He threw the tissue over his shoulder and curled up next to Lewis, head on his shoulder, knee pinning one of Lewis’s legs to the bed.

 

Lewis bent to kiss the top of Hathaway’s head and brought a hand up to stroke his back. “You. Such a mouth on you.”

 

“Mm. Sorry. Got carried away,” Hathaway murmured.

 

“Don’t apologize. It was very…well.”

 

Hathaway smiled against Lewis’s shoulder. “I’m glad.”

 

They lay in silence for a while, pressed together.

 

“We’ll have to be discreet,” Lewis said finally.

 

Hathaway shifted so he was looking at Lewis. “So…we’re doing this, then?”

 

Lewis frowned at him. “I think we just did,” he said.

 

Hathaway shrugged. “You’re entitled to get carried away. It doesn’t commit you to anything.”

 

Lewis smoothed Hathaway’s hair down. “Consider me committed. If _you’re_ sure, that is.”

 

Hathaway hid his smile in Lewis’s shoulder. “Been committed for ages.”

 

Lewis sighed. “Don’t know what you want with me,” he said. “You’re too clever for me by half.”

 

“That might have worked with me before I worked a few dozen cases with you,” Hathaway replied. “I know better, now.”

 

“It’s not the same thing,” Lewis objected.

 

“It’s close enough. Similar enough to make us work well. Different enough to keep it interesting.”

 

“Hm,” said Lewis. “I like that.”

 

They were quiet for a moment.

 

“So. Dinner?”

 

Hathaway laughed and leaned up to kiss Lewis. “If you’ll help,” he said.

 


End file.
